


Lean Into the Hard Left

by bright_roaring_blue



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Bay Movies), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:35:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29181114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bright_roaring_blue/pseuds/bright_roaring_blue
Summary: His father had been keeping a secret for a very long time.A look at Rosamonde and Splinter, through the eyes of a son.
Relationships: Splinter (TMNT)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5





	Lean Into the Hard Left

**Author's Note:**

> To compliment 'A Piacere': this begins apace with the work, and shares two or three years beyond.

The song was _long_ and complicated. Kinda boring, too, but Leo could tune it out as he played in the water. 

Maybe if he asked Daddy to hum it again, he could stay until the bubbles all popped.

When he grew up, he was gonna be a rocketship and fly everyone to the moon, far away from here.

For the first time, Christmas was awesome _._

He got shoes and pants and cool pajamas with the planets on them. Socks and underoos were _still in the package,_ and nothing was stretched out or dirty because _it was all brand-new._

Daddy cheered as his brothers and him raced down an empty stretch of sewer - on their brand-new scooters - and Mikey pulled ahead with a victory cry. “I told you Santa’s real!”

Dad usually went out with them in pairs, teaching them how to move around the city at night. Sometimes he went out alone, though, and came back humming under his breath.

For the first time in a long time, Dad was letting them stay up late for a movie.

His brothers were already yawning and rubbing their eyes, but Leo wasn’t gonna fall asleep. He was gonna train his eyes to stay awake; he’d be the first to see what stuff Dad brought back tonight.

Nobody knew where the Pokemon game cartridge went. Raph blamed Donnie, Donnie blamed Leo and Leo didn’t care, but Mikey gave them all the silent treatment for _weeks._

Leo was being the _best_ at stealth.

Sensei was out to scavenge, the once a week trip he took alone. Leo had followed him in perfect silence as far as Broadway. And on the surface, too - _Sensei was going to be so proud of him._ He was even climbing in silence, the perfect ninja -

Then a car horn went and ruined everything.

His pulse jumped through his skin and his grip slipped. The dumpster below protested his weight with a clamorous _bonk_ , and he felt the impact echo through his bones. He barely had time to roll into the shadows before -

“My son?”

Nono _no!_ He’d been doing everything right - using all his lessons, all his skill - Sensei hadn’t even known he was following until - then that _stupid_ car horn - and now Sensei was helping him up like a _child_ and he felt bruised and embarrassed and -

Leo stiffened his chin and stubbornly refused to cry.

“My son, I am not angry. But there is such danger for us, up here. If anything happened to you…” Pulling him bodily into his arms, Leo allowed his father to hug him, and discreetly pressed his teary face into the rat’s robes. “Come. Let us discuss this at home.”

For the first time in a long time, there were _fresh apples_ , whole boxes of them, and nothing was rotten or bruised at all.

Leo had been topside once during a heat storm. There had been a current in the air, a swirling vortex that drew his eye upward. All was dark, but then suddenly - _crack!_ \- a blade had streaked across the sky, carving white into the air. It illuminated the edge of a cloud for just a second, before sending the world into shadow once more.

That’s how Sensei moved.

In his hands, steel moved like lightning: the flash of the blade highlighted just a sliver of his father before he melted into darkness. The air around him whistled like a storm - 

_No._

Sensei _was_ the storm.

Sometimes, Leo hated living with his family.

The rattling pipes and the shudder from the subway overhead, the blast of the rap and skateboards whirring on concrete and keyboards constantly click-click-clicking, there was never _quiet_ in the Lair. And Sensei, with the meditation gongs or the humming or the fu- _damn classical radio_ -

He was considering moving to Uthant Island when Donnie introduced him to noise cancelling headphones.

For the first time in _forever,_ Leo knew true peace - at least for a few hours a day.

Another awesome Christmas. Where did his father _find_ all this stuff?

Wielding two blades was so much harder than he thought it would be.

It might be easier if they were identical: they were daito and shoto, a matched pair, but their reach differed… and their weight… and the balance. He felt unbearably clumsy, and when Sensei started deliberately telegraphing his strikes - Leo could have died of embarrassment.

So, Leo would lead his brothers, and Sensei -

He’d always been _Sensei_ as much as he was their father, but - now he was just _Dad_ again. It was a strange relief, that also felt like loss.

For the first time, Leo heard his father scream in pain, and the sound stopped his own heart.

Even with the extra mutagen, it took their father whole seasons to recover.

That wasn’t entirely fair. Dad had already started to slow down: now he kept his own schedule, instead of babysitting theirs. He continued to share his counsel, and training and tea, of course, remained sacrosanct, but it was _different_ now.

Leo wasn’t sure his father would ever be as _much_ as he once was.

For the first time in a long time, Raph was wearing _pants_. 

It wasn’t even Christmas _._

He’d been expecting words of praise, or at least pride - they had stopped an alien invasion and saved the _damn_ _planet,_ after all.

But Dad only wrapped those wiry arms around his shell like he had when Leo was a child. The naked relief on his face, the strength trembling through that hug, it all made Leo’s throat go tight -

He couldn’t feel this here, or he’d fall apart. “We’re okay, Dad.”

“I know,” he answered gruffly. “Yes, I know.”

For the first time, Leo asked what his father was listening to.

“It is Partita Number Two, in D minor,” Sensei murmured, eyes closed, “performed by solo violin. I find it most meaningful.”

Mikey was being _extra weird_. And April - by their powers combined, it was just - 

If they kept this up, he was going to ban candy from the Lair.

For the first time in a long time, Dad was shaving.

The buzz of clippers died, and he emerged from the bathroom neatly trimmed. His father looked - not _younger,_ but less wizened, more dignified. Wearing fresh robes, claws trimmed -

Maybe this was a good sign.

So, Big Family Dinner was a _thing_ now.

April made a point to be there every month, and Jones had a standing invitation for whenever he was off-duty. It was actually kinda nice.

For the first time ever, his father was late _._

Leo sat in meditation for another ten minutes. Then he began his stretch, his warm-up, his katas. 

Dad should be through his own practice by now, tightening his wraps and readying to spar with Leo before his brother’s ambled in for warm-ups.

Now it was _sunrise_ and his father’s futon was still rolled out, with him a knot hidden under the white duvet. He breathed with some building, heated agony. Worry and dread twisted Leo’s insides and he readied to call out before the covers shifted to reveal… a foot. 

A narrow, _human_ foot.

Leo blinked mutely at those seashell-pink toes, mind an empty whirl.

Beneath the blanket came his father’s slender chuckle. Those toes curled, chased by an urgent, _feminine_ trill of -

For the first time in a long time, Leo sacrificed stealth for speed; he beat feet, _feet, the picture in his brain,_ out of his father’s room and just - _out_ , damn, oh _shit_ , just _go._

_His father_ had been keeping a secret for a very long time. 

Leo’s meditation was finally on point. The peace of a frozen lake went from practice to application and icy calm made everything so much easier.

“They need time to process this. We’ll meet your friend another day.”

“Hmm.” As usual, though, his father saw right through him. “Yes. Another day.”

He offered his father a stiff bow and cut from the room. “Guys,” he called urgently, “training, now.”

“ _Ohmygod,_ thank you _so_ much,” Mike breathed, falling into step beside Leo.

Donnie snorted. “Never thought I’d celebrate a surprise training session.”

“Freakin’ _ditto_ ,” Raph ground out around a toothpick. “First time for everything.”

First time for everything - including letting his brothers take the fall for him.

If ever he pictured someone for Dad, it would have been a sleek dark-haired beauty. Somebody to compliment his father’s silvering nobility, and his tranquility. She’d have a voice like flowing water, hair like silk, and she would embody peace.

This was not that beauty.

 _Rosamonde_ was a spare, twitchy thing, and that French lilt could be most kindly described as _resonant_. At least she accepted his criticism with grace. “A voice must _carry_ across a room of ninety children.”

“Or a courtyard, of course,” his father added gently.

“Of course.” The woman grinned gamely. “You must accept some credit for that, I think.”

The banter was warm, but it spoke of a history that _grated_.

For the first time in his life, Leo actually wanted to hate someone.

“Well, I think it’s sweet,” April whispered to Leo behind the rim of her glass. “I mean, _look at them._ ”

The blonde woman chatted amiably with Don to her left. Those spindly fingers were wrapped around her fork, but her right hand had fallen below the table - as had his father’s left.

“I can’t _not_ ,” Leo replied sourly.

Because apparently the woman had received a standing invitation to Big Family Dinner, too.

For the first time in a long time, Leo was a creature of pure spite.

“Dudes, _dudes_.” Mike ducked close to Donnie and Raph, “Dad and Ro, do you think they’re… _you know_ … are they -”

“Do _not_ finish that sentence -”

“ _I will end you_ -”

“Yes.” Three pairs of eyes swung Leo’s way, all round in shock and mute horror. It was cruel, he knew, but at least he wouldn’t have to carry this knowledge alone. “We don’t have doors, guys.”

Mike’s face held betrayal. “ _Ohmygod_ , dude - _not cool!_ ”

“Excuse me,” Don looked nauseated, “I have to go bleach my brain.”

“ _Fearless_ , you _sonofa -_ ”

Leo penned in another clue on the crossword, quietly enjoying the chaos he’d sown.

So, no joke: apparently, they were going vegan, and no one would listen to reason.

And he was pissed, but more so that he couldn’t lay this at her feet.

For the first time in a long time, someone else was sitting late with his father.

“It’s just the damp, dearest.” Splinter’s chest gave a familiar rattle. “It will abate in spring, as always. Do not worry yourself so.”

Her laugh was not a happy one. “How can I not?” The uncharitable thought crossed Leo’s mind that Rosamonde must have finally learned _inside voice_ , before her words choked with quiet worry. “ _Tu as besoins d’un médecin,_ and somewhere warm - I wish I could -”

“Shhh.” Dad’s nose turned into her small palm, nuzzled it tenderly. “Dearest, please.”

Another hushed sound, this time a sob. Leo’s chest panged. 

He pointedly turned away.

Spring was very slow to come.

For the first time, he realized her twitchy fingers made _music._

The melody came light and nimble, like bubbles popping across warm water. He recognized it with a hot flash of ire. Try as he might, though, but he couldn’t fan the spark; his anger fizzled as soon as it flared.

 _Overtraining_. _Exhaustion,_ maybe _._

He was probably just tired.

So, vegan garlic bread was pretty indistinguishable from regular garlic bread. Who knew.

“She said _husband_.” 

It wasn’t a question. Rosamonde had pressed the word softly against his father’s whiskers as they’d lingered over goodnights. A whisper, but Leo heard it clear as day.

“Our vows were exchanged in a private, sacred space.”

 _Nope,_ he was not touching that. “But… she’s not going to live with you.”

Splinter returned his attention to the blade and whetstone. “It is not to be.” No censure there: only a wistfulness that had shame bubbling hot in Leo’s gut. “Someday, perhaps.”

For the first time ever, he sought her out. 

“Dad cares for you a lot.” He breathed in that icy calm, but the next words still made his teeth clench. “So if you want to live with him,” _with us_ , “I want you to know that I won’t object.”

“Will not,” Rosamonde asked, “or do not?”

“Does it matter?”

One arching brow. That’s all it took, but to Leo, it felt like the worst sort of dressing-down. What she must have learned from his father over the years - or maybe she’d taught him.

_What a sobering thought._

And likely true, because before all five feet of her, Leo was fighting the urge to fidget.

When she spoke again, her accent lacked its usual warmth, though not its conviction. “Leonardo, I care for your father very much. And for you, also, however little you care for me.” She offered a sad little half-smile. “And how could I not? When you were such a good boy, so dutiful a son - and I recall, briefly _a rocketship_ -”

She knew about that? 

_If embarrassment could kill a man, now would be a good time, please._

“- and you _are_ dutiful, and good. Yet in many ways, still a boy.”

It was a slip of the knife. He wasn’t sure if he bristled from the hurt, or the possibility of truth. “Look -” he began.

“I have no wish to take your father from you,” she said compassionately, “or to tread where I am not welcome. I wish only to share with him what we can, for the time we have.”

As if on cue, the rat stifled a cough by clearing his throat. Her face whipped to the sound, panicking, assessing, before relaxing, if very slightly. Thin fingers fluttered, smoothed the edge of her bun, and her worry lines softened as she watched Splinter settle beside Mikey.

 _She was young_ , Leo suddenly realized. Maybe fifty, if that, and her ashy blonde was just beginning to silver. It would be another decade or so before age began to inconvenience her, slow her down as it had his father; the pair were growing old, but not together.

Leo wondered fleetingly how many years they could possibly share. How many more would _she_ have, after - _after._

“But - now is now,” she continued. Her eyes watered slightly, but Rosamonde’s voice was gentle, deliberately light. “I am with the man I love and his children and the Independence celebration - how can I think of unhappiness?”

Light as a sparrow, she squeezed his arm, and rejoined his family nearby.

The fireworks display had begun. He blinked back unexpected wetness as it sliced ribbons into the sky.

Her hands were full of dish soap, so his father swept the lock of hair behind her ear with an arthritic claw. Rosamonde smiled in thanks, but there was - something shared there, a mutual awareness that was unbearably sad.

 _Damn._ Leo, he felt - he was just the _worst_.

For the first time, Leo was keeping a secret. But not for long.

It took everyone. Donnie first, then April and Mike - _Raph,_ who was surprisingly enthusiastic _-_ and time. It took _time._ And ten grueling months later, it took humility, and all his courage.

Only a block away, the tiny five-story apartment had basement access cut into the sewer: or rather, elevator access.

Raph was walking Rosamonde through other renovations, how he’d kept the stained glass transoms and married Japanese aesthetic with art nouveau through the use of _pocket doors_.

Mike pointed out that his apartment on the third floor had the most bedrooms. April smiled and laced her fingers into his.

Donnie was gushing about the security measures, the generator, the special one-way-reflective solar glass he’d tweaked to be thermoregulating or something. “We used it extensively for the roof - there’s a small greenhouse up there -”

“My children,” Dad’s brows were pulled taut, somewhere between consternation and awe. “This is… quite an undertaking.”

“You deserve no less.” Leo drew not from the frozen lake, but a well of peace and endless gratitude. “Your care and influence made us who we are today. Whether we knew it or not,” he met Rosamonde’s watery gaze, “whether we appreciated it or not. You cared for us, and now it’s our privilege to take care of you.”

“What he said.” Raph was clearing his throat, blinking hard. “Wanna keep you lovebirds close, but not too close, ya know?”

Rosamonde sniffed and patted her cheeks daintily. Her damp gaze met his resolutely; relinquishing Raph’s arm with a pat, she bid Leo closer. His heart started pounding under his plastron, his palms started to sweat. Here came his courage, all that he had, to bend in a bow to this small, yet significant woman.

No bow in return. Instead, she grabbed at his shoulder and raised herself up on tiptoe.

And for the first time in his life, Leo received a motherly kiss on the cheek.

Music drifted up the stairwell. He didn’t mind, even if the song was long and complicated. Rosamonde was _really_ good.

Dad hummed along.


End file.
